Funny Kids

Mom + Dad

Perfectly sound math skills,
if you want to know my opinion.

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Notice crazzy has two z’s.
You may be worried about her
mastering of the English language,
but I assure you both z’s are necessary
for all the sleep I am losing
at the hands of this child.

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Family Dance Night

Do you remember this ancient post about the family staying up all night to dance.
We couldn’t afford to go to Chuck E Cheese and so we pulled out the old records.

Well now we can afford to go to Chuck E. Cheese but I believe I would rather
travel back in time and do this all over again.
I finally figured out how to post the video and these are so cute.
The girls have grown so fast but I am pleased to report that they still giggle just the same.
And they still think they can dance.

It started out slow. Very Lawrence Welk feeling slow.

Then we moved on to Bob Dylan’s song on banjo.
Dad does some tapping and at the end the baby has to join in.

More with dad and baby. Puff the magic dragon.

Then dad goes a little crazy.

A little Beverly Hillbilly’s. We were in TN after all.
We have some underwear malfunctioning.
This is when I hope that no sickos have found the blog.
But, if you sickos have found us, make sure you watch this one through
to see the man you will contend with if you come within 50 feet of our daughters.
And then know that I am about 800% more ferocious.

Now dad kindly introduces the two-step to our flapper girls.
Has anybody seen our girls?

And if you’ve been the loyal watcher,
you will be happy for this finale.
One final laugh for us all.

Good times. Good times.

Adieu Nutella Cookies

So the other day, while I am making myself some Nutella cookies, Caroline walks into the kitchen. She is stark naked and holds a diaper in her hand. She is repeating, “poopy, mommy, poopy” and “I get in shower with Bella.”

I put down the cookie-scooper and run over to discover that the girl is a genius. Yes, there is poopy in her diaper and yes she had somehow taken it off and carried it to me. I hurry and discard the diaper while simultaneously grabbing a hold of Caroline so she doesn’t sit anywhere or touch anything.

I run to find the place that she removed the dirty diaper from her body but can’t find poop anywhere in the rest of the house, including the hallway in front of the bathroom where the deed was most likely done. The poop is the hard kind, so less worrisome. All I could think about is e-mailing Amy Kafala and telling her that there are perks to not going vegan. Thank goodness we ate too little fiber yesterday.

I stand Caroline up on the changing table and carefully use the baby wipes to remove the remaining poop from her bum.

I tell her she can have a bath after Bella is done and I lay her down to replace the diaper.

I turn on some cartoons to distract her.

I then go back to the kitchen to scrub my arms and hands. From just under the elbows to all the way under my fingernails, I was thorough. The process took a good five minutes and a cup of handsoap.

I then go back to my cookies, which I remind you, are made mostly from Nutella.

Not surprisingly, I just can’t muster the strength to finish plan A. Nutella mixed with flour, sugar, and eggs looks strikingly like that something else to which I had just dedicated 10 minutes of my life.

That is the life of a mother.
Everything can change on a whim.
The sooner mothers lower their expectations for their own needs
and put themselves at the mercy of their children,
the better off it is for everyone.

Two-year-olds are no respecters of persons.
They don’t care if people want to shower alone.
They don’t care if you have been craving those cookies for two weeks.

I then sit down to write this story
and I find the post I titled last week.
I hadn’t written any of the post yet,
but it was going to be about how as a mother I have been exhausted.

My toddler is wearing me out.

What was the title of that post you wonder?

Scrapin’ the bottom of the Nutella jar.

See how things change in an instant?

No matter how desperate I am for a chocolate fix,
I won’t be scrapin the bottom of the Nutella jar again.

Ever.

And I bet neither will some of you.

Thank you for being a loyal reader and helping me
support my habit of telling awful things that happen to mothers alike everywhere.

What is it with this gross kid?

If you can relate to this story or found it mildly entertaining at my expense,
please feel free to share the story with a friend via e-mail, twitter, or facebook.

The links right below make it so easy.

Just , whatever you do, please don’t show your sympathy
or support by bringing me any chocolate cookies for a while,
and especially not hazlenut.

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Wolverine through and through

For you readers who aren’t familiar
with Utah,
last week was The Holy War.
That means that the holier than thou team BYU
got spanked by the rebellious Utah Utes.

I have a few suggestions for the team’s improvement,
inspired by photos of my kids and their cousins.

Maybe before their next football game,
the BYU Cougars
should go to The Bean Museum
for some inspiration
on their animal instincts?

They could learn to stare down and intimidate their opponents.

Charge like an ostrich.

If all else fails they could just be silly
and hope some laughs could get them some yardage.
Blending in may get them better results.

Or even crouching beneath the other team.

Maybe they just need some glasses?

Or maybe they won’t play any fair opponents at all
because they are just like helpless little mice.

How about this great idea?
We should just lock all the players in the elevator with our kids.
That might give them some better training then they’ve been getting.
Our future BYU cheerleader still looks good
even though she just experienced 
two great defeats in the same week:

BYU’s  54-10 loss,
and a broken arm.

Poor Sophia.

Maybe the Cougars could change their mascot
to something a little more fierce
that can actually beat a Ute?

Did I mention that we aren’t really BYU fans?
Go Utah Valley University.
Everyone knows that Wolverines
are better than Cougars,
and usually a little more humble.

If you agree with me that UVU
is the best higher education
in Utah,
or you just loathe BYU,
how about you like my blog on facebook?
Look to your right sidebar.
You’re one click away from being my newest fan.
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Quite possibly the funniest photo of all time.

Go here for a real good laugh.

If you liked this, please come back
and become my 139 or 140th facebook liker.
You can even do it with one click on the sidebar.

Pretty please with sugar on top.

There may or may not be a prize involved.

And never make the mistake of leaving your cup on when the photographer shows up.
Or if you do, please share the result with the rest of us so we can laugh at you like you’re an idiot.

The Magic We Call Harry Potter

Recently, when pressed on the issue,
I decided that
magic
is my favorite word.

Magic.
It describes how I feel about the love I share with my husband.
It perfectly defines anything that is too cool to be described.
It is the noun that says how I feel about my kids.
Magic.
Is it one of those cool words
that is not only a noun,
but a verb too!

I magic’d on over to her house in two seconds flat.
While playing basketball, he magic’d around the other player, all the way to the hoop

Months ago, two of my magical children
decided that JK Rowling
missed a few vital spells
when she wrote her masterpiece Harry Potter.
How she missed these in all seven books of her series I do not know.
But without further delay,
it is time for all the spells to be known.

And because I am so looking forward
to my upcoming Harry Potter extravaganza
I find it a perfect time to share:

Freeze a Thing
Polka Dot A Kus
Dogga Loc Us
Go Away Kus
Go To Sleep Us
Throw Up Ist
Zip Lips (You know with this mom, they need this one every day)
Water Cause
Fire Cause

Doggalocus is my favorite.
Here is one of my kids’ favorite YouTube videos of all time:

Just now, while watching the video
Me to Abigail:
Why do you think Dumbledore is naked?
Abigail: (laughing)
I don’t know, because he is gay.

Yes, we are all about the magic around here.
We know every bit of Harry Potter trivia known to mankind.
And, we even make up our own.

Comebackacus.
Readalottamore.
Lovethisbloga.

What’s your best attempt at a vital spell?
I was thinking
laundrydonanow.

Oh, and I need your opinion?
Should LG and I dress up like

Arthur and Molly Weasley?

or
Vernon and Petunia Dursley?

Or maybe
LG could be Vernon
and I could Molly.
Oh the scandal, we would be at the party.

Don’t miss the fireworks.

So, on Saturday night at 10 pm, LG and I were walking out of the temple.
Yes, this temple. How amazing is that?

From our view up on the hill, there were fireworks going off all over the valley. It was absolutely breathtaking.

LG informed me that The Stadium of Fire would be happening any moment. For some reason, in my mind, I thought that it was going to happen on the actual 4th.

I decided we should hurry home and find a spot to watch the fireworks.

To my dismay, when we got home, the kids had no interest whatsoever in breaking away from the TV.

I pried their bodies and eyes from the tube, and made them pile in the car. I was not about to miss the fireworks, especially after this post.

As we drove down State street (Utah Valley’s version of Knoxville’s Kingston Pike) I was overwhelmed by so many US flags lit up along the road. The patriotism of Utahns is not only efficacious but admirable. People either love America here or they display their stars and stripes to compete with all the other businesses. And by all, I mean ALL. Everyone has a flag. Everyone.

The kids were grumbling during the whole drive.
Why do we have to do this?
We don’t want to watch the fireworks.
Let’s just go back home.
wah wah wah.

I told them to keep their eyes on the flags and to sing along.
I started loud and strong:

This land is your land, this land is my land….nothing but my voice.
Oh beautiful, for spacious skies….again, nothing from the back seats.
She’s a grand old flag, she’s a high flying flag….”Shut up, mom.”
God bless America….”Really, Alice, do you have to sing so loud?” said quietly by LG so the kids wouldn’t hear; I’m assuming he didn’t want to totally stomp on my love for country.
I’m proud to be an American….(even louder than before)

By this time the kids were all horrified and hating their mother and her motherland.

And guess what? By the time we got to Provo’s end of State from our northern end of Orem’s State, all we could see was traffic. The traffic was heading towards us, not with us.

Yes, I hate to tell you, Murphy’s Law is still in full effect, and has no respect for a nation’s holiday celebrated two days early or a very loud and song singing patriotic mother. We had missed the fireworks.

More grumbling, complaining, and whining ensued.

LG and I were not about to miss a good opportunity for teaching our kids.

Me: “Knock it off you guys, at least we still live in a country that has firework celebrations.”
LG: “There are a lot of kids in this world that would die to be in this car right now.”
Me: “Or to even have a car.”
LG: “Or to have a mother.”
Abigail: “Not if their mom sang like that.”
Me: “Especially if their mom sang like that.”
LG: “Yeah, think of all the kids out there that don’t live a country where they have mothers.” (O.k. I just made that up.) I think he really said, “You should be grateful for a mother who can sing, and cook, and do laundry.”

Abigail: “At least parents in other countries would be smart enough NOT to drive their family into the middle of the traffic jam, especially when their family missed the show.”
Me: “Well, at least there are other Americans with cars.”
LG: “And at least your mom can see in the dark and drive.”
Bella: “Mom, STOP!” (I admit it I barely missed that car in front of me.)

Anyhow, the conversation went on for a bit. And there was no chance of it stopping.
[In fact, it can still be happening if you want to comment what your best line would have been to the kids.]

Quietly, ever so quietly and with her Gold sense of perfect timing, Sophia chimes in. She must have looked up from reading Harry Potter for long enough to gather her sisters’ desperation for winning at the “Be glad you are American” game.

What does she say?
Brace yourself.

“Man, I wished I lived in Canada.”

Seven words. That’s all it takes to make a total complete disaster of an evening all worth it.
Good one Phia. Good one.
Average Americans should really consider more than 2.5 kids; they make everything more fun.

I told the kids that if they would sing their favorite patriotic song at the top of their lungs, then I would indeed STOP.

Abigail was loud and proud. I wonder where she gets that from?
“I’m a yankee doodle dandy. A yankee doodle, do or die.”

I am sure that all that traffic surrounding us was so grateful that they didn’t miss the real entertainment of the evening as I rolled all windows down.

And If I do say so myself those frostys from Wendy’s were the perfect consolation prize for everyone involved. Nothing like good old American food.

And when the song Firework came on the radio. I promise you, not just momma was singing. Even dad got in on the falsetto. Perfection, pure perfection.

We didn’t miss a thing. The fireworks had been going off in our car all night long.

And guess what? Utah loosened their firework laws this year. We can now shoot off 150 foot rockets from our very own neighborhoods. And on the real 4th of July, the sky was lit up in every direction we could turn. Our culdesac of fire was a billion times better than their Stadium of Fire. Fireworks in the sky on all four sides, coming from everywhere.

God bless America.

Guest Post – Lynnae

Lynnae Boyer Weller is a close family friend.
She writes eloquently at Life’s Little Parables.
And she wrote up this guest post in a day.
Did I tell you she is awesome?
More like family really.
She, like all of her other family members, 
are always good for a laugh or 100.
I blogged about her mother’s laugh here.
I sure do miss it still.
But, Nancy’s laugh most definitely lives on in her children.
As evidenced by this awesome guest post.

My little family has a long history with wolves. We have a very small zoo where we live, but It’s biggest exhibit is the wolves. When my daughter was 3, we visited the zoo and watched the wolves from an observation deck. The deck is open air and keeps you about 8 feet above the ground level. One wolf apparently thought my daughter would be a tasty treat. He trotted right over, sat down in front of her, and started licking his lips. He kept staring at her and licking his lips until we left! Needless to say, I kept a very tight hand on her that visit!

Since then, the zoo built a nice building you can go in to observe the wolves on ground level through a large, thick window. The first time we went there, one of the wolves apparently took a disliking to my son. The wolf saw him through the window and tried to urinate on him! Seriously disgusting, wolf!

Speaking of disgusting things that wolves do, my daughter, who is now 7, had the opportunity to see a presentation on wolves with one of her friends. She learned when a wolf makes a large kill, and is unable to take it back to the den, the wolf will urinate on the meat to “mark” it as his own. All the kids in the crowd were completely disgusted. However, my daughter thought about it for a minute and said, “Well, actually, it’s just like he’s putting his own sauce on it!”

I guess that disgusting wolf was just trying to put some sauce on my son!